


you already know how this will end

by RedHorse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fifth Year, Friendship, Gen, Irony, M/M, Marauders era, Marauders’ Map theories, Shenanigans, Young Love, bad band names, fluff with foreboding, oblivious crushes, war on the horizon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 10:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Remus knows everything there is to know about himself. Really.





	1. The Badge

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sys13 for the incredible art that made writing this project such a joy. I came as close as I could to doing it justice! The work is posted [here](https://saveyourself13.tumblr.com/post/184853831819) and also embedded in the story in the scene to which it corresponds.
> 
> Miraculous did a beta for me of the early chapters then trashgoblinwizardparty jumped in to rescue me in the 11th hour and did such an amazingly thorough job in just one weekend! Also, I had a big block midway through that stuffle helped me conquer. <3 Thanks to each of them! Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> The title is a line from the chorus of Devotchka’s “How It Ends,” which seemed to play in a loop in the back of my mind while I wrote this. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is a prefect.

August 1

The badge arrived by post owl when Remus was home alone. It was a few days before the moon and he was already hypersensitive and also perpetually sleepy, trying unsuccessfully to doze on the sofa. When the owl landed outside the window he leapt up as though he’d heard a gunshot.

The owl was unmistakably from Hogwarts. The Owlery had a distinct smell. When the bird hopped onto the sill and extended its leg, Remus wasn’t surprised to see the school's crest on the wax seal.

He plucked the strings from the bird’s leg and it flew off at once, leaving Remus looking down at the envelope and feeling the telltale outline of a badge inside. He smelled ink—the particular kind Dumbledore used—barely evident under Minerva McGonagall’s subtle cologne. 

He could imagine the brief congratulatory message on the parchment folded inside. He knew the shape of the badge, which he’d both desired and dreaded since he first found out about the prefect program in first year.

When he opened the envelope, though, it would all be truly real. He’d be obligated to write three letters to his best friends and another to Lily, who reminded him she was his best _girl_ friend. And quite possibly a fifth to Drusella Meadowes, who had been sending him letters full of so much intimate detail, Remus had been compelled to divulge much more in his responses than he cared to.

Remus wasn’t ready for any of that, so he took the envelope upstairs and set it on his desk, then walked around his room several times, his fingertips brushing the walls and furniture, exactly the way he’d once seen a fox pace in its cage at the Muggle zoo.

Then he sat at his desk and looked at the envelope a while longer. He thought he’d tell his parents before he told Drusella and his friends. 

Remus’ mother was home first, weighed down with her briefcase, the chemical smell of her hairspray an assault. Still, Remus hugged her tightly and let her pet his hair and pat his back as long as she wanted.

When they parted, Remus took a deep breath and told her. “I was chosen as prefect,” he said in a rush. Her eyes widened, which crinkled her smooth forehead into three faint furrows.

“Oh, darling, congratulations,” she said, and then lifted her hand and pressed her knuckles against her lips.

Remus tried not to let his mask of pleased expectation waver, and in return, he watched his mother talk herself out of whatever she’d been about to say.

“Congratulations,” she repeated, instead of whatever had been on her mind moments before. She hugged him again, more tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Then she held him at arm’s length and looked into his face, solemn. “Let me tell your father?”

Remus knew his gratitude was easy to see, because his mother couldn’t quite help yet another hug, though this one was briefer.

“Go upstairs and write your friends, if you haven’t yet. I’ll speak to him.”

* * *

That night, after Remus spent a strained dinner wherein his mother discussed his Prefect selection with determined cheer, and his father barely looked up from his plate, Remus fell into bed. He was exhausted and restless at the same time. He turned his head and saw the badge on his nightstand, glinting dully in the moonlight. And then, there was a fluttering at the window, and a familiar bird settled on the sill and stared in at him.

It had feathers so dirty and bedraggled, Remus had never understood how it could fly. It was badly scarred and balding around one eye, which was a milky white to the beady black of the other. It held one leg out, gripping a bit of cloth in its talons, and tapped the window.

Remus didn’t open it. He had never opened it, not even the first time.

He rolled over and faced the wall, feeling a stinging itch between his shoulder blades. He wasn’t sure how long the bird waited; tapping softly with its burdened claw, then sharply with its beak, but eventually there was another fluttering sound, signaling its departure. In the morning, Remus couldn’t stop himself from opening the sash and picking up the parcel from the sill with trembling fingertips. He unwound the cloth, trying to ignore its pungent smell, and then the tiny roll of delicate parchment inside.

_I am never far_

The messages were always phrased a little differently, but meant the same thing. He read and reread it, and then he crumpled it back up and tossed it into the wastebasket along with the cloth. Even though the Trace was harmless in a wizarding residence, Remus always followed the rule about magic at home. Anyway, a match would do. He found one in his desk drawer, fumbling with fingers that trembled, lit it and tossed it into the metal container. He waited until the fire had consumed all it could, leaving ash and a greasy twist of fabric that had refused to burn. Then he dumped the residue out the window and went to the washroom to scour his hands with soap and hot water.

* * *

September 1

Remus found his way to the compartment where the prefects met with a lingering sense of unease. He fingered the badge the way he had since it had arrived in the owl post, as though he wasn’t sure it was real. He understood the feeling, that painful combination of pride and apprehension. _I never would have been made prefect if everyone knew I’m a werewolf._

Remus should be used to the feeling; he had it all the time. When strangers smiled at him. When other kids invited him to sit beside them in class or the library. When Drusella Nott had slid into his lap and kissed him with Firewhiskey-scented breath at the end of the last term.

He knew dwelling on circumstances beyond his control was a waste of time, so he deliberately stopped touching the badge, and reached out to open the door to the compartment just as a witch in a bright blue sweater reached, too, so their knuckles brushed.

Remus looked up into Lily Evans’ smiling face. “Hi, Remus,” she said, pulling back from the door handle to squeeze his wrist instead. “How was the end of your summer? I’m sorry I didn’t return your last letter, but things were...” She made a face, her nose wrinkling adorably. Remus smiled back at her, relaxing into his usual slouch, his hands finding their way into his pockets.

“Busy, yeah. Didn’t Petunia’s boyfriend go on holiday with you?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what’s he like, the bloke? I got the feeling you were trying to be polite, not complimentary, when you called him ‘different than anyone else I’ve met’?”

Lily’s smile grew somewhat strained. It pained her to say something unkind about anyone, with the possible exception of James Potter. “I’ll...tell you when I decide,” she said after a moment. “We’d better go in, hadn’t we?”

Remus nodded, and followed her into the compartment, where the other prefects were assembled. Remus looked around with interest at the other new fifth-years—the Slytherins with particular trepidation. But it wasn’t anyone too horrible. Only Magda Black, the least venomous of Sirius’ third-cousins, and Presley Gulliver, a Half-Blood, but whose father was on the Wizengamot, making him an acceptable choice even given Slytherin politics.

“Come sit by me, Remus,” murmured Lily, slipping her hand through his elbow, and he went with her, ignoring that tugging feeling and the impulse to touch his badge again.

Ravenclaw Lirica Turpin was Head Girl, and Head Boy was a Gryffindor Muggleborn named Robert Seematter. He gave Remus and Lily a little wave when he saw them, and blushed when Lily waved back.

The thought of Robert going after Lily made Remus vaguely anxious. Lily rarely dated, but when she had been spotted holding hands with a certain boy for a few weeks, or exchanging shy kisses on the cheek by the Great Lake, it always sent James into a sort of morose fugue state. James was the barometer of happiness for the Marauders; no one could be sad when he was cheerful, which was almost always. But inversely, no one could be happy when he was sad. 

Fortunately, Lily seemed characteristically oblivious to the look on Robert’s face, guiding Remus to two empty seats. She looked toward the Head Boy and Head Girl with unmasked excitement, pink under the dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, and Remus felt a wave of gratitude for their friendship. James and Sirius were effortlessly good at academics, but had no real passion for it; Peter was a diligent student, but struggled a little too much to truly enjoy his classes. Remus was the only one of the four who took a particular pride and pleasure in giving his studies his all, but he shared this side of himself with Lily and never had to worry he might bore her.

“Hello, everyone!” Lirica began. “I’m glad to see you all made your way here on time, and I hope you’re looking forward to the year as much as Robert and I are! As I saw most of you noticing, we’re Head Boy and Head Girl this year.” She tilted her unique, larger badge back and forth so they could all admire it. 

“I especially want to welcome our fifth-year prefects! If you have questions about your responsibilities, or just want to vent, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re here for you! There are so many great things about being a prefect, but it can be hard to be in the position of policing your own housemates and friends, so don’t be too hard on yourself if you find it a tough adjustment!”

Remus was still imagining the myriad ways his Marauder loyalty—and its central tenet of mischief—would conflict with his prefect responsibilities. He felt called out, though of course it made sense that everyone would feel that strain to some degree.

He saw that Robert was looking at him sidelong, and grinned guiltily. Robert had been known to look the other way a time or two, though he couldn’t know the half of it. The Potters’ Invisibility Cloak made what the Marauders got up to baffling even to a school full of wizards, particularly their own house mates.

Lirica went on for a long time, while Lily diligently took notes she assured Remus she would share with him if he needed any later reminding. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her notes never did him any good. They were written in a sort of codified shorthand Remus was sure only Lily understood, and interspersed with small, whimsical sketches and patterns which Lily had spent eight months learning how to animate in their second-year. Trying to interpret her words while a rogue, line-drawn sphinx pounced on the dot of every “i” could give him migraines. 

After the meeting, Remus slipped out of the compartment first, almost colliding with James, hovering in the aisle. “Remus! That took ages! We’re almost there!”

Remus had seen James already on the platform, but wasn’t surprised when James hugged him a second time. He had doubled in size, Remus was fairly sure, or at least in height. Always lean, he was now downright scrawny, his elbows and knees sharp and bony, his earnest brown eyes seeming even more enormous behind his glasses.

The train was slowing, so James let Remus go enough to tug him toward the doors. Hogsmeade station always felt idyllic on the evening of September 1st, even more so than King’s Cross. Or maybe it was all in Remus’ head, but he swore the very _air_ was welcoming, cool and eager. And evenings were, in general, so _rife_ with possibility. The darkness, like any secret, enticing in its mystery.

Remus and James set up the path to the school, James bounding alongside Remus like an overeager crup.

“So, how was Lily’s last weekend at home? Did her sister hurt her feelings again? Did she finally cave and hex her?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thanks James,” he said brightly. “Great to see you care.”

James looked horrified for a moment, then grinned when he realized Remus was just teasing. James was pathetically easy to tease; a glimmer of hurt feelings or anger and he was tripping over himself to apologize.

“Remus, you know I love you most of all,” he said, putting one of his long, wiry arms around Remus’s neck in an affectionate headlock. Remus ground his elbow into James’ skinny ribs and James didn’t even react; it was like he had no nerve endings at all.

Behind them, Sirius gasped. “I’m devastated,” he cried, burrowing headfirst into the tiny gap between their bodies like a dog. James and Remus broke apart, startled, and Sirius slung an arm around Remus’ neck and another around James’ waist and pouted at them.

“By ‘you,’ I meant all three of you, obviously,” James said, very seriously. “I love you each the maximum possible amount.”

“What a sap,” Sirius declared. “Don’t hold out on him, Remus. Look at him. It’s cruel. Tell him everything. What color was her sweater?”

“Blue,” James sighed, earning startled looks from Remus and Sirius. It was too difficult to walk all tangled together, so Sirius had let go of them but they stayed close enough their arms bumped against one another’s.

“You’re a creep, you know that, James?” Sirius asked, and James shrugged carelessly.

“I can’t help it. I couldn’t ignore her if I wanted to.”

Sirius winced.

“Honestly, James, the shit you say. Sometimes I’m embarrassed _for_ you.”

“Be nice,” Remus admonished Sirius, and looked pointedly at James. “She had a nice visit. Petunia was out with her boyfriend most of the weekend, so it was just Lily and her mum.”

James looked relieved. Sirius caught Remus’ gaze and rolled his eyes, and Remus tried not to smile back. He was a bit embarrassed for James, too, to be honest. But he also thought it was to be expected, given James’ natural sweetness. And Lily Evans was an obvious choice for his admiration. Everyone fancied her except, technically, Remus and Sirius, who abstained out of loyalty. And Peter, who expressed no more interest in girls now than he had when they were eleven.

“Wait for me!” cried Peter, as though summoned by the thought, and leapt onto James’ skinny back, almost toppling him.

“Pete, you’re too big,” James complained. But when Peter waved an imaginary whip, James trotted off, doing his best impression of a Hippogriff. They looked ridiculous, but still Remus saw a few girls gazing after them with wistful expressions.

“He’s gotten so _tall_ ,” sighed a passing Hufflepuff to her friends. Remus couldn’t remember her last name, but her first was Alaina; he recognized her, though over the summer people had a tendency to transform. But her silver-blond hair, in its high ponytail, and the Muggle platform shoes peeking out from beneath her robes, set her apart even if she was a little taller and curvier than the last time he’d seen her.

She saw Remus looking and frowned. A moment later her face transformed, which meant Sirius must have turned her way.

Remus felt a familiar combination of amusement and exasperation as the girl’s eyelashes fluttered and she flashed a practiced dimple. It was even worse with Sirius than with James. After all, though the Potter fortune was certainly excessive, everyone knew the only family to rival the Blacks in wealth were the Malfoys. And while technically disgraced, Sirius was the Black heir whether his parents liked it or not. To make things worse, though James was undeniably handsome, boniness and all, Sirius was unnecessarily so.

As a result, when Sirius had finally taken an interest in girls the term before, he’d mowed a brief path of emotional destruction through the population of fourth- and fifth-year witches. He’d even dated a sixth-year, but got spooked when she picked up his hand and stuck it up her shirt, and had avoided older girls since.

The moon was out, Remus noticed at once. He felt a little itch between his shoulder blades, and the strange urge to press his face into the wet leaves at the edge of the path and inhale deeply.

He ignored it, of course. Easy to do when he could kick Sirius in the shin to hobble him and bolt up the path after James. It was their custom to assign the order in which they sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table based on a no-holds-barred race, and the year before the full moon had fallen on September 1, which meant Remus didn’t attend the feast at all and had to sit at the end of the bench by default. He hadn’t been able to see anything comical going on at the other tables and for the rest of the year all the best rolls were gone from the basket that was passed around at dinner.

Sirius cried foul and sped after him, but Remus was fast. If he narrowed his eyes he almost felt the wind raking his coat, pinning back his ears, clearing his head. He could run all night, he thought absently, dodging James and Peter and a knot of Ravenclaws. Then the path opened before him and he sprinted on, all alone, toward the flung-open gates of the school ahead.

* * *

After the welcome feast, draped over their beds in their dormitory, Sirius lifted his head from his pillow and propped himself on an elbow.

“Seven first-year Gryffindor boys! Seven!”

“Yes, Sirius, we were all there at the Sorting,” James said with exaggerated patience. He and Peter were lying crossways over James’ bed. He leaned toward Peter’s ear and spoke in a stage whisper. “I think he’s losing it already. Early dementia.”

Peter nodded solemnly. “The Black family madness claims another promising young heir.”

Sirius scoffed. “ _Disgraced_ heir, thank you very much.”

“Why does it have you so preoccupied, Sirius?” Remus asked the question Sirius obviously wanted them to ask, and Sirius’ gaze found his with a sort of unconscious gratitude that Remus couldn’t help enjoying. Seven _was_ a high number. High enough that he had seen Dumbledore and McGonagall conferencing in the corridors about how to arrange the beds.

“I keep thinking how lucky we are, that it’s just the four of us. If there were _seven_ , we’d never get anything done. Where would we _plan_?”

Remus had thought it might be something like that. It wasn’t the first time he, Remus, had felt like the disproportionate number of new Gryffindor witches versus new Gryffindor wizards had been fortuitous in their first year. He’d always privately thought that he and Peter got folded into the group because of the natural intimacy of the four of them living together, though of course he wouldn’t admit it aloud.

“Did any of them seem promising? As recruits?” Peter asked. The other three boys looked at him, perplexed. “You know, we’re fifth-years now. And Patricia was a fifth-year when we started school.”

“You think Patricia _recruited_ us?” James looked scandalized. “She was just our friend!”

Peter sighed and patted James on the shoulder. “No, James, we were definitely her minions.”

Now Sirius and James were giving Peter identical, shocked looks. Peter looked to Remus for support. “Tell them, Remus. They’re so naive.”

Remus laughed. “I mean, we did do a lot of _ridiculous_ things for her.”

“She taught us the value of misbehavior!” James insisted. “Because she saw that we were kindred spirits.”

“The philosophical principles of nonconformity, passed from generation to generation,” Sirius agreed. “Now that I think about it, maybe we _should_ consider recruitment.”

Remus grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I think I’ll be doing enough babysitting without being asked to train a bunch of mini-Marauders.” He glanced impulsively at his badge, which was gleaming dimly in the low torchlight.

“Ah, yes, the chosen one,” Sirius intoned. “We’re so proud of you.”

“I’m hungry,” James said. “Can you ask the Elves to bring me snacks?”

Remus did have a limited authority with the Elves, but they made him much too nervous to invoke it facetiously. “No, I’m sorry, James. Though I’m aware that you have gone an entire hour between feasts. It’s a travesty.”

“I was too distracted to eat properly,” James said, with a wounded look. He climbed out of the bed and stretched, his knuckles grazing the part of the ceiling that sloped beneath the domer. “Sirius, will you come with me? I can’t stay under the Cloak and tickle the pear at the same time.”

“Your appetite is a liability,” said Sirius, already coming down the ladder. “Let’s go.”

When they were out the door, Remus realized Peter had fallen quiet, sitting up and picking at a seam on the quilt over his lap.

“What’s the matter, Pete?”

“Oh, all this prefect stuff,” Peter murmured, then looked up quickly with a faint blush. “Not that I’m not happy for you! I know you wanted it, and you’ll be great at it. But I figure you’ll be too busy to…” he shrugged, his voice trailing off, but it wasn’t difficult for Remus to fill in the blanks.

“Oh, no, Pete, I’ll have plenty of time to help you when you need it.” They had a tradition of “studying together”—how Remus deliberately referred to their tutoring sessions. Peter worked hard, and could get by on his own. But he was made anxious by the thought of lagging too far below Sirius, James and Remus in the rankings, so he had a self-imposed standard of excellence that he was always struggling to reach.

Peter looked enormously relieved, and his shy grin was instant. “Really? I mean, even if it’s not as often, just, when I really can’t figure something out…”

“Just as we’ve always done,” Remus said firmly. “During Quidditch practice, Thursday nights and Sunday mornings.”

Peter looked down again, but he was still smiling. “You’re the best, Remus.”

Remus winced, but of course Peter didn’t see. He touched his badge. This was the moment when the self-doubt hurt the worst. Because the instinctive, noisy thought— _he wouldn’t say that if he knew I was a werewolf_ —was nearly overpowered by a fervent hope, which suggested, very softly, _well, but maybe he would_.

* * *

Unfortunately, keeping his promise to Peter proved harder than Remus had hoped. In fact, he found himself uncomfortably distant from his friends as he began his prefect duties and balanced a regimented, proactive schedule for OWLs revising. It didn’t help that James’ lovesickness had reached inconvenient new depths. Lily, meanwhile, had never been less inclined to pay attention to him.

Wednesday, Remus had his first evening patrol, carefully scheduled around Quidditch practice. He was in before James, who was approaching the Quidditch season with even more determination than previous years. He’d played since second year, but after a Gryffindor streak in the Quidditch Cup race, they’d lost it—and the House Cup as well—to Slytherin at the very end of last term.

Remus expected Sirius and Peter were already asleep in the dormitory. The common room was empty except for Lily. She sat at the low table by the fire with her knees drawn up. Several copies of the _Prophet_ were strewn out in front of her.

“Brushing up on current events for Slughorn?” Remus asked lightly, confusedly peering over her shoulder.

She twisted around to look at him. There were faint bruises under her eyes. “Remus. Oh, no. I’m...well, does this seem strange to you?”

She pointed to a few small-print columns on each page. “Did you know there’ve been three Auror deaths in the last six months? They’re mentioned in the paper, just in passing. But it’s unusual, because normally that kind of thing is turned into a big story. Look, here, at this issue from 1969. Two Aurors died in an accidental potions explosion and it was the front page story for a week.”

Remus frowned, swallowing a yawn. He was exhausted. Soon it would be time to vaguely cite the unnamed chronic illness that he was believed to suffer from, and which caused his monthly absences. 

“Oh, Remus,” Lily said, her face falling. “You should get some sleep. Maybe you shouldn’t be asked to do these late patrols.” She bit her lip, then added tentatively, “Your health comes first.”

For no reason he could fathom, sometimes lying to Lily was harder than lying to his best friends. He smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll think about that. For now I’d better get to bed. And so should you.”

She looked over the table and sighed. “I guess.” Reaching forward, she gathered the papers into a stack and stuck them under her arm, climbing to her feet just as the door behind the portrait swung open and James and a few other senior Quidditch players strode in.

“A record!” cried out Paul, a sixth-year with the body type that was typical of an excellent Beater, and punched James enthusiastically on the arm. James was grinning, hair standing on end from flying, his cheeks red with shy pleasure. Then he saw Lily and, inexplicably, straightened his shoulders and immediately looked twice as smug. 

“Well, you know, athleticism is in my genes,” he told Paul, and all the other boys laughed raucously. Remus sighed, marveling at the transformation that seized sweet James and turned him into an arsehole whenever he had the urge to impress someone. Coincidentally, the only person he ever desired to impress was Lily.

“Good night, Remus,” she sighed, with a quick, disgusted glance at the boys still congratulating themselves by the door, and hurried off to the girls’ dormitory hallway. The moment she was out of sight, James’ shoulders slumped. He ambled toward Remus and dropped onto the sofa with a defeated sigh.

“I…” Remus began, and James lifted a weary hand to silence him.

“I don’t know how to act,” he said miserably.

“ _Don’t_ _act_ ,” Remus murmured. “I feel like we’ve been through this before.”

“Not this week,” James said grimly. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. You look tired.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you doing that treatment with Pomfrey this year?”

According to a made-up resource that Madam Pomfrey could rattle off with perfect artificial confidence, lichen applied to the joints under a full moon was the recommended treatment for magical exhaustion.

“I guess so,” Remus said, avoiding his eye. “So, what kind of a record?” he added quickly, relieved when James’ eyes went dreamy at the change in subject. Aside from Lily Evans, James’ singular passion was flying.

“I made it from one goal-post to the other in nine seconds,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a _record_ , really, so much as just faster than anyone’s gone when people were watching the time.”

“In other words, the exact definition of a record,” Remus laughed. “Congratulations.”

Inside the dorm, Remus was startled to find that both Peter and Sirius were awake, sitting facing one another on Sirius’ bed. There was a book between them, which Peter snapped closed as Sirius chirped, “Look who’s finally joining us, Pete!”

“James was off making Quidditch history,” said Remus, patting James’ shoulder. “From goal-post to goal-post in nine seconds!”

“It’s not a record,” James protested, but he was grinning as Sirius whooped and Peter clutched his heart, as though lovestruck.

“Let’s celebrate,” Sirius exclaimed, swinging his upper body upside down over the edge of the bed so he could rummage beneath it. When he came upright with a bottle of fairy wine clutched victoriously in his hand, Remus noticed Peter slipping the book under the blanket.

Probably dirty pictures, Remus decided, and didn’t think about it any further.


	2. The Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is a skilled wizard.

Remus and Peter were revising, James was at Quidditch practice, and Sirius was in Hogsmeade with some witch.

“But why won’t Eel’s Eye neutralize the combustible effect of the Ravensbane?” Peter asked, his hair standing on end from him running his hands through it in constant frustration. 

“Because it’s balanced by the powdered moonstone,” Remus reminded him, tapping the end of his quill against the ingredient reaction diagram at the bottom of the page.

Peter groaned. “Then why isn’t it just like a tooth-dissolving Potion?”

“It would be, if you didn’t chop the Ravensbane.”

Peter’s forehead hit the table with a thump. Further down the bench at their same table, a startled Hufflepuff girl looked up and scowled. 

“Shhh!” she insisted.

“Let’s take a break,” Remus murmured, with a cautious glance toward the Hufflepuff. Peter nodded, weary and grateful, and they gathered their books and made their way out of the library.

As they headed in the direction of the Tower, Sirius appeared, coming from it. He was beaming and holding a newspaper aloft the way a soldier might brandish a flag after winning a battle.

“I’ve found one!” he shouted in a whisper, when he was close enough they could hear his uncharacteristically lowered voice.

Remus and Peter exchanged a glance, each understanding the unspoken question the other asked: do you know what he’s talking about? They shrugged in unison and looked back at Sirius.

“We don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Remus explained matter-of-factly.

“No swearing,” said an offhand voice in passing, and they looked around to find Lirica Turpin looking disapprovingly over her shoulder as she walked past. Her eyes widened when they met Remus’.

“Right,” Remus said, blushing. It had been a topic of conversation at the last Prefect’s meeting. “Sorry, Lirica.”

Blushing at the awkwardness, she gave him an uncertain smile. “That’s all right, we all make mistakes,” she said vaguely, and hurried after the small group of her friends that had paused to wait for her further on down the corridor.

“This isn’t the right place to talk about it,” Sirius said tersely, looking after Lirica with the same sort of puzzled revulsion he always had when someone behaved authoritatively around him. Then he seemed to shake himself, and met Remus’ eye, then Peter’s, giddy and intent. “Come on, let’s see if the common room is dead.”

The common room _was_ dead. If anyone was in the Tower, they were in the dormitories. But given the early evening hour, and all the summertime revising that had gone neglected and which now had to be made up, Remus supposed they were mostly strewn about the castle and grounds, trying to study.

“Okay, so,” said Sirius, after they’d arranged themselves around the coffee table by the cold fireplace. “Have you ever heard of a villain’s map?”

Remus shrugged, but Peter sat up a little straighter on the sofa, as eager as if he had the answer to a question in class. Sirius nodded at him with a slight smile. 

“Yeah, Pete?”

“I’ve heard of them. They’re the old maps that show people _and_ places.”

“Yeah! And they’re made up of all the places you’ve been and seen. It’s brilliant.”

Remus now thought he vaguely remembered something about this from Charms. “Aren’t they really, really unstable?”

“Not if they’re made properly,” Sirius said defensively. “And this one _is_.” He tapped the page of the newspaper he’d spread over the table.

Remus and Peter leaned forward to skim the article.

“If there have been real specialists studying it and not reproducing it successfully, then what makes you think we…” Peter began, and Sirius swung his head in his direction and fixed him with a dubious look, one eyebrow raised. Peter nodded thoughtfully with a very small smile. “You’re right. Because we’re _Marauders_.”

Remus looked at them with the strong sense he was missing something, but didn’t let the struggle for figuring out what distract him from the central problem.

“That defense has never worked out for us when we’ve been caught in the past,” he reminded them wanly.

“But just imagine it,” Sirius insisted. “With this _and_ the Cloak, we’d be unstoppable.”

Remus frowned. Weren’t they already close enough to that? He glanced at Peter, who was usually an ally when Sirius or James got carried away, but Peter was looking at Sirius dreamily, nodding. Remus sighed. Outvoted, then.

“So, what do you have in mind?”

Sirius rolled up the parchment, grinning ear-to-ear. 

“We steal it, obviously.”

“ _Steal it_?” Remus exclaimed, his voice cracking in dismay. Peter was still nodding, more vehemently now, a gleam in his eye. “ _You_ think this is a sensible idea, Pete?” Remus demanded.

Peter looked startled. “Sensible?” he echoed carefully. “Er, no.”

Remus grimaced. To be fair, “sensible” had never been their standard, but he liked to think they would all grow up someday. Apparently that day was not today.

“If we go into the museum exhibit with the Cloak, we could just swipe it,” Sirius said, his eyes wide and his smile lingering on his mouth in a sinister manner. Honestly, he took a concerning delight in petty crime. “Could it really be that easy?” He flipped to the next page in the _Prophet_ , which showed a photograph of the exhibit as assembled in the Ministry space. “I don’t think there are even any interior Wards.”

“It’s at the _Ministry_?” Remus peered over Sirius’ shoulder at the photograph, his chest pressed against Sirius’ back, and Sirius made a small sound and rubbed the back of his neck, wriggling.

“You’re breathing on me,” he said stiffly. Remus poked him in the waist with a knuckle.

“Don’t be a baby.” He plucked the paper from Sirius’ hands and studied it intently. In the photograph, a few members of the public, half-interested at best, milled around peering at the documents beneath glass, and two Aurors, turned mostly away from the camera, were laughing together, paying no attention at all.

“It could work,” Remus said dubiously. “I guess if, when we get there, it looks like it won’t be so easy, we’ll just forget about it.”

“But how do we leave school?” asked Peter.

“I think I can take care of that,” Remus said, stepping away from Sirius and folding his arms, lips pursed in thought. Sirius turned around, looking flushed but flashing his proudest smile.

“I knew you’d come through, Remus.”

Remus touched his badge, but smiled back.

* * *

“I’m impressed, young man, very impressed,” repeated Professor Binns, floating after Remus determinedly, all the way out of his classroom and into the corridor. It was rare to see him venture so far; he seemed hazier and less focused the further he got from the spot where he’d delivered the same lectures so many times before. “You’ll have to tell me every little thing!”

“Yes, Professor,” Remus promised. “Thank you for arranging for us to go.”

As it turned out, the exhibit contained several very important historical artifacts, including a treaty drafted entirely from goblin’s blood. A Professor could sign out students during the term for academic enrichment.

In the Gryffindor common room, most of the other students had cleared out, leaving Peter, James, and Sirius sitting on the floor around the low table by the fireplace, their usual spot.

Remus laid the four scrolls of permissions on the table between his friends with satisfaction. “Done.”

Sirius leapt up and slung an arm around Remus’ waist, lifting the other in a gesture of triumph. “I told you, Potter, that the badge wouldn’t change him, not deep down,” he said, as though choked up with emotion. James stood up, too, laughing, and held Remus by the face so he could kiss him noisily just to the right of his mouth.

“James, _no_ ,” Remus sputtered, feeling like he was scolding a large, underfed dog, particularly when James peered at him with big, soft brown eyes and didn’t let him go.

“Let me love you, Remus,” he insisted, looming close again, and Remus laughed frantically and tried to get away, clutching James’ thin, but iron-strong forearms. He wouldn’t have managed if James hadn’t let go, abruptly, on his own, stepping back with his hands raised and his face turned in surprise to Sirius.

Remus looked too. Sirius was no longer laughing and had his wand drawn, a startled expression on his face, as though he was more surprised by the Stinging Hex than James.

“No non-consensual kissing,” Sirius said primly after a moment of awkward silence. He stowed his wand and divided a quick smile between James and Remus without meeting their eyes. “We don’t want anyone to sic Pomfrey on you with one of her talks.”

“Right,” James said quietly and with dawning understanding, a wrinkle appearing slowly between his eyebrows, a sure sign he was retreating deep into his thoughts, connecting this moment to a dozen others. Remus, for his part, was drawing a complete blank.

“No offensive magic in the dorms, either,” Remus replied to Sirius, matching his faux-serious tone. “Or you’ll have to suffer one of _Flitwick’s_ lectures. He might even supplement it with a few hexes of his own.” Professor Flitwick, in addition to coaching the dueling club, have periodic school-wide lectures about magical etiquette.

Remus’ effort to diffuse whatever strange energy had descended on them was at least partly successful. James and Sirius looked at him with distracted smiles and Peter laughed.

“Yeah, like that Hufflepuff who kept Levitating that sixth-year witch’s skirts.”

“It wasn’t funny, Peter,” James said gravely, but his mouth was twitching.

“Well, it _was_ funny when Flitwick Levitated _him_ , upside down, for a quarter-hour,” Remus pointed out.

“Flitwick got in trouble for that,” James reminded them absently. He was still looking at Sirius, whose arms were tightly folded while he studied his shoes. 

“Are you all right, Sirius? James?” Peter asked softly.

James shook himself and looked over his shoulder at Peter with a sincere smile at last. “I’m good, Pete. So, what do people wear to museums, besides their favorite Cloak?”

* * *

They settled on Hogwarts robes, since they were meant to be there on school business, after all. Peter wanted to leave early enough that they could stop in Diagon Alley. He needed something for his Potions kit.

“Does everyone have their permission slip?” Remus asked, falling into a default tone of voice that Sirius always called his ‘Prefect Voice,’ and when he heard it Remus winced. No one else seemed bothered. Sirius leaned near the mirror to fix the part in his hair, James was carefully folding the Invisibility Cloak back on itself a dozen times so it could be easily tucked in his pocket, and Peter had his Potions kit open, presumably to double-check he didn’t need anything else.

Remus cleared his throat. “Well, _do you_?” he demanded, more loudly, and was strangely satisfied when they all startled and looked at him, patting at their various pockets and satchels and nodding. “Good. We need to go, or we won’t have enough time to stop, after.”

After. After they committed a real, actual crime. His stomach dropped again at the thought. Seeing him pale, James smiled reassuringly.

“What’s the worst they could do to us, Remus? We’re just kids.”

Remus nodded, ducking his head to hide the wave of nausea that drained all the blood from his face, and led the way out into the corridors. Soon they were out of the castle, striding toward the gates down to Hogsmeade where they could take the Floo to the public entrance to the Ministry.

Remus’ mostly-Muggle upbringing meant that he wasn’t used to seeing Diagon at non-peak times; he ordinarily visited for school supplies and on the weekends, when it was bustling. On a Thursday afternoon, it felt downright sleepy in contrast.

“Sirius,” James murmured, pointing toward the display window at Quality Quidditch Supplies, where a spell held a broomstick aloft for passersby to admire. “It’s a Nimbus 500. Let’s go have a look?”

“That’d be grand,” Peter said eagerly, “so you won’t be complaining every five seconds and making me rush.” He was going for Potions ingredients. 

Seeing his opening, Remus nodded eagerly. The Potions shop was the equivalent of having five simultaneous allergy attacks; too many scents, too many magical currents. All very minor, but in combination...he shuddered. “I’ll just circle the block a few times, then. Stretch my legs.”

Sirius and James barely acknowledged him, eager to be off. Peter paused and frowned, though. 

“Are you sure, Remus? You’ll be all on your own.”

“It’s the middle of the day. I don’t think anyone will try to mug me,” Remus said, smiling. “And if they do, joke’s on them. I haven’t got so much as a Knut.”

“Well, okay,” Peter said, still looking doubtful. “I’ll meet you back here,” he said, jerking his head toward the Quidditch shop, into which James and Sirius had already disappeared. “There’s no chance they’ll be done before me.”

They parted, Remus glad for the unexpected respite from the energy of his friends. He had never minded being alone, so long as it wasn’t for a very long stretch. The early autumn weather was peerless; the sky clear blue and the air fresh and just on the edge of cool. Remus turned into Spitstone Street, where his father sometimes brought his mother for lunch. She enjoyed the occasional glimpse of the wizarding world, and Spitstone was quieter than the other areas, with flats and residences interspersing small restaurants.

It shouldn’t have been a wrong turn. It wasn’t Knockturn, after all; it was the closest thing to its opposite. But nonetheless, standing in the center of the street like a nightmare, there was Fenrir Greyback.

“There you are, pup,” he said. They stood twenty paces apart, and he didn’t raise his voice, but in the stillness, and with the wolf’s ear in his head, Remus heard him perfectly. “Your friends take you out for a walk, did they?” He was wearing an overcoat to conceal the tattered and stained clothing beneath. His teeth gleamed yellow, the same color as the parts of his eyes that should have been white. His pupils were huge and dark; if there was any doubt he was taking Wonderdust, it was easily eliminated by the stiff breeze that carried the clear scent of the substance to Remus, just downwind.

Sometimes, Remus saw Greyback suddenly, much like this. In detail too vivid to possibly be chalked up to mere imagination, but disappearing as quickly as he’d shown up, strictly imaginary. But the imaginary version never spoke, and didn’t reek, densely and unmistakably, of months’ worth of sweat and come and urine and shit and rainwater and grass and honeysuckle and stone and thunder.

“I have to know,” Greyback said, unmoving even as Remus finally unstuck his heavy limbs and stumbled backward, fast, “have you been enjoying my letters?”

“Remus!”

Greyback’s eyes narrowed, just as Sirius grasped Remus by the arm. From the corner of his eye, Remus saw Sirius’ wand raise and point directly at Greyback, whose lip curled in a snarl.

“Who the fuck is that?” Sirius breathed into Remus’ ear, but Remus was mute. He couldn’t backpedal, he was already flush with Sirius, back-to-chest, trapped. He made a muffled sound of distress and Sirius lowered his voice. “It’s fine, Remus. It’s—look, he’s gone, whoever he was.”

Remus turned around and put his arms around Sirius’ ribs, tight enough to bruise, and bent his head to tuck his face into Sirius’ neck. 

“You saw him,” he muttered, horrified. That Sirius would _know_ , somehow, what Greyback was and that Remus, too, was...or, that Sirius had _seen_ , which meant that Greyback was not a figment of Remus’ imagination, but very real indeed.

Sirius was patting Remus gently, in the manner of someone who hadn’t been asked to comfort anyone before. Remus was not used to needing it, either, but try as he might he couldn’t quite get his arms to loosen from Sirius’s body. He knew Sirius from head to toe, but it had been years since they’d had this sort of sustained, full-body contact, and Sirius was a little taller compared to Remus than he had been a few years before. He was solid and strong in Remus’ arms. He…he was the slightest bit hard against Remus’ hip.

Remus pulled back suddenly, his eyes wide. Sirius was pale with embarrassed shock.

“I…” he began, a blush rising slowly in his cheeks. “I’m…”

“It...happens,” Remus offered.

“Yeah,” Sirius said weakly.

Remus glanced around, remembering who had just been there, and shuddered.

 _He doesn’t even carry a wand. You have one. And Sirius besides. He can’t hurt you. You’re not a little kid now_.

The mantra didn’t resolve his pounding heart, but it made it bearable. Still, he started for the outlet of Spitstone onto Diagon, walking fast. “Let’s get back to the others,” he told Sirius.

“But who was…?” Sirius managed, despite his still-red cheeks and the hitch in his stride, not to let the obvious question go entirely.

“I’m not…” Remus began, but the lie was sour and impossible in his mouth, so he swallowed it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

For once, Sirius didn’t push. He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded instead. “All right. Sure. I...that’s fine.”

And then they rounded the corner, James and Peter were waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron, and the scene in Spitstone from minutes before finally felt it was at a semi-safe distance.

Strangely, Remus was almost more distracted by the memory of that awkward moment, pressed tightly to Sirius, than he was the threat of Greyback.

Almost. The words from the last note rose up unbidden in his mind.

_I am never far_

* * *

They were the only ones at the exhibit, which was a problem they hadn’t completely anticipated. It meant that if anyone bothered to check at the admissions desk, they’d be high on the list of suspects.

“They won’t know when it happened, if we do it right,” James pointed out, his jaw firm with determination. Remus, recognizing a lost cause, appealed to Sirius. 

“It’ll be fine, Remus,” Sirius insisted. Because of course he did. Peter was at the doorway, too far away to overhear them, where they’d agreed he’d keep watch.

“Now or never,” James said, and just like that he and Sirius were under the Cloak and Remus was alone in the little alcove off the exhibit room.

“Say,” he called, his voice sounding hollow and ridiculous in his ears, “is this supposed to be like that?” When the security Aurors turned, he pointed to the small, weathered statue on the dias under the window. “It has a big crack. Did someone break it?”

The Aurors hurried over, looking anxious. They were young; probably trainees. Remus thought he recognized the blond one from school. A Ravenclaw, three or four years ahead of them. She leaned over the statue and frowned.

“No, I think it was like that.” She looked at her partner and lowered her voice. “Right?”

Remus glanced past them at the display with the map beneath it. From here, the map looked like nothing extraordinary at all; a piece of weathered parchment with some squiggly lines drawn on. The protective glass over it seemed to be shifting, very slightly, but it could also have been a trick of the eye. He forced himself to look back at the statue between him and the Aurors.

“I don’t think so,” he said solemnly. “See that bit of debris just beside it? I think it’s a new break. Is that going to make someone upset?”

The Aurors looked at one another again with rising unease.

“It was like that,” said the young man, who seemed even younger than the Ravenclaw. He had a German accent and a shadow of golden-red stubble. “I’m almost sure.”

The glass was definitely shifting, almost undetectably rising, and beneath it the parchment was shifting as well, emerging from beneath the glass just as another sheet, which Remus easily recognized as the dummy they’d made in the dorms the night before, appeared as though from thin air and eased back beneath the glass in its place.

The Aurors had drawn back a foot to bend their heads together and whisper. Remus, feeling bad, looked at the statue and blinked.

“Oh, no, I think you’re right,” he said brightly. “All that wear around the fracture point—definitely happened a long, long time ago.” He looked at the plaque beneath the dias. “A couple hundred years at least.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said the Ravenclaw. Her partner nodded, but they were still looking at the statue with concern as Remus sidled away and went out to the vestibule to join Peter, who gave him a very solemn nod to confirm that Sirius and James were well away. It wasn’t until they were out in the Ministry Atrium that he saw them, leaning casually against a column and doing a great impression of two innocent, bored school kids on an academic errand.

“Ready to go? Merlin, you took ages,” James said loudly, grinning a little too hard for the invented circumstances, but Remus couldn’t quite bring himself to be paranoid. They’d gotten away with it; he was sure. His hammering heart was slowing and in the wake of the surging adrenaline, he felt like he’d taken some kind of drug. He grinned back at James.

“I really like maps,” he said with a shrug, and then they raced one another to the Lifts.

* * *

November 2

To Remus’ chagrin, he wound up being the only one to spend much time on the map project, which hadn’t even been his idea. But it was absorbing work, and he took particular pride in the finished product.

“Remus, it’s amazing,” James murmured, his face so close to the parchment that his breath made it vibrate in Remus’ hands. He smiled, even as Sirius elbowed James out of the way so he, too, could get a good look. He put out a long finger and traced after the moving figure of a person labeled _Melanie Wollens_. 

“Wow, it really is, Remus. Well done.”

Remus shrugged. “I had the other one to copy,” he reminded them, but really, it hadn’t been that simple. The old spellwork was only half in Latin, and the rest was something that felt like Sanskrit, but probably not cast by a native speaker. Untangling the vowels had been a real bear.

“So, we should use it,” Sirius said, sitting up eagerly. “For practice.”

“It’s not completely finished,” Remus hedged. He had coded the Map with their magical signatures, so it wouldn’t reveal its spellwork to anyone else, but everything still needed time to set in. He was hoping the Map would reveal a bit of personality, in the manner of Charmed Objects, as it aged, and he didn’t want one of them to use it too much and upset the balance he’d tried to strike when they imbued it. It hadn’t even named itself yet.

“Practice for what?” Peter asked cautiously, edging in now that Sirius and James had drawn back to admire the map for himself. He stroked the corner of the page where the Forest was depicted in a series of close-together tufts, as the treetops would appear from above.

Then something occurred to him. “Let’s use it to return the old one.”

James’ and Sirius’ faces fell so fast, it might have been funny if Remus wasn’t so determined. “I made it, so I should get to say.”

If they noticed the underhanded nature of the remark, they didn’t outwardly react to it. 

“Well, the exhibit is at the Ministry for a few more days,” James allowed. 

Rather than running the total risk they had the first time, they agreed they’d stop short of putting the map back under the glass; they’d just deliver it to the Aurors and hope that they kept the temporary theft quiet in the interest of saving face. That meant that only one or two of them would go; the number that would fit beneath the Invisibility Cloak.

“Remus and Pete should stay.” Sirius announced this unilateral decision in a tone of finality, and Remus, startled, didn’t argue. Sirius had been cautious around Remus every time they left the castle, though he kept his word and never asked any questions about Greyback’s identity or anything else that had happened on Spitstone Street.

“Fine with me,” James agreed easily, and off they went.

Remus lay awake late, waiting for them to return. When he couldn’t sleep for Peter’s soft snores, he rolled out of bed and went to the common room, surprised to find Lily Evans there.

“Hi, Remus,” she said in a loud whisper, smiling. “Did you forget you don’t have patrol?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I just couldn’t sleep. So you’re just back?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. Her hair was braided away from her face, and she had grown out her fringe so it was almost in her eyes. Somehow, that made her eyes seem greener than should be possible. Remus sat beside her on the sofa. She had her feet drawn up and a blanket over her, and she tossed the end of it to him. He chuckled and got under it too, turning so that his feet were a few inches from hers and they faced one another.

“I caught two Slytherins snogging in the Potions corridor,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You never see the Slytherins with kids from other Houses.”

“That’s true,” Remus agreed. It might have been an awkward topic, but roughly half of Prefect patrol was stumbling upon people who were snogging and deciding whether to ignore them or send them back to their dorms. “Slytherins stick to Slytherins.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, and Remus realized too late that she was probably thinking about Severus Snape, now, instead of about snogging. Or maybe she was thinking of both. _That_ would be an unusual pairing, he thought, but who was he to judge?

“How’s Druella?”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “What? Oh, we’ve split up, I think.”

Lily grinned. “You _think_?”

“Well,” Remus said, “I don’t know that we had a conversation about it, but I’ve been busy with school and...things.”

“Things, yes, very important, those things,” Lily said sagely. “I think you’re going to have to share the news with Druella, Remus. I’ve heard her refer to you as her boyfriend, as recently as yesterday.”

Remus was shocked. “ _Boyfriend_?” When had they ever decided anything like _that_?

Lily looked fondly exasperated. “Yeah, you’ll need to speak to her.”

Remus fidgeted with the corner of the blanket. “What about you? Anyone you fancy?”

Lily grimaced. “Not especially.” She looked away, then back, suddenly sly. “I’m so _busy_ , you know, with _things_.”

Remus prodded her shin with his toe, and she snickered, then balled up the entire blanket and tossed it to him.

“I’m turning in. I’m knackered. Take care, Remus.” She stroked his head once in passing, the way his mother might.

Almost as soon as Lily went into the dormitories, a disembodied head popped into existence over the sofa back.

“Did you hear that? She must fancy someone.” The tips of James’ ears were red. Sirius swore, muffled, and then wrestled the tangled Cloak off of them and shoved off from beneath James’ arm.

“You’re too tall for this to work like it used to,” he complained. James couldn’t be distracted from his distress.

“Who do you think it is?”

Remus raised his hands. “I’m too tired for this.” He stood up to fold the blanket.

“She said ‘not especially,’ James,” Sirius said wearily. “Not exactly a declaration of love.”

“Lily is very direct,” James fretted. “She’d say ‘no’ if the answer was just ‘no.’”

“Why don’t we go discuss this exhaustively in the dorms,” Remus suggested. He met Sirius’ eye. “So, I assume it all went fine?”

Sirius grinned, but looked swiftly away from Remus. This was another thing that had been happening lately, and was feeding a little cancerous worry in Remus’ gut that churned anew now.

“Brilliantly. In spite of this buffoon and his inhuman size.”

“I’m not that tall,” James protested distractedly, moseying toward the dorms with a distant expression persisting on his face. “Whoever it is, he’d better not be hurting her feelings. Didn’t she seem like her feelings were hurt, Sirius?”

Remus sighed, dropped the folded blanket back on the sofa, and trailed after his friends.


	3. The Piercing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is supportive even when his friends make questionable choices.

When Remus no longer had the distraction of the map, the fact his friends were up to something he wasn’t privy to became increasingly obvious. He knew better than to try to get information out of Sirius or James; Peter was the only option.

“Are the three of you planning some prank you think I’ll mind now that I’m a Prefect?” he demanded one night while they were revising. It was a week before the full moon and Remus was spoiling for a fight, so it wasn’t the best time for a planned confrontation. He knew the question came out sharper than he’d intended when Peter went pale and dropped his quill.

“What? No.”

“Because I thought I’d shown that it’s not going to be like that,” Remus said morosely. “You know, with the whole…” he glanced around them at the empty library, but still couldn’t bring himself to say it. “The whole thing with...you know.” He made a kind of flapping motion with his hands to pantomime the Map.

Peter looked amused, but quickly schooled his face back to seriousness. “I know. _We_ know. You’re still _our_ Remus, not some obedient little bureaucrat.”

Remus frowned. “Then what is it?”

Peter looked down and picked up his quill. “There’s nothing, Remus. You must just be stressed.” He was speaking a hair too quickly. It had been a long shot, anyway. Just because Peter was worse at secret-keeping than James and Sirius didn’t mean he was completely inept.

Remus thought it might have been the whole _thing_ in Stonespit Street, but he didn’t dare discuss _that_ with Sirius. The topic of Greyback aside, there was…

...Sirius’ groin against his, the tightening bulge there, the way it charged the air between them, the way it shifted Sirius’ _smell_ …

Remus put his head in his hands, elbows lodged on the tabletop.

“Merlin, Remus,” Peter murmured. “It’s really nothing! Or, it’s nothing _bad_.”

Remus looked up, and Peter, realizing his error, swore.

“Shit. It’s just...a surprise,” he said weakly. Remus’ eyes narrowed.

“I hate surprises!”

Peter looked horrified. “You do?”

“Yes! How can you not know that about me?”

“I…” Peter rubbed his hands over his face. “I have to go.” He scrambled to assemble his books.

“Yeah, go! Tell them I know, and that I don’t like it!”

“You’re _shouting_ in the _library_ ,” Peter hissed.

“I don’t care!” 

“Mr. Lupin!” called Madam Pince, sharp enough to cut glass, and Remus’ courage abandoned him at once. He was cowering as he turned. She stood behind her desk with a trembling finger pointed at him as threateningly as a wand. “You’re suspended from this library for the remainder of the evening!”

Remus didn’t bother arguing. He nodded and gathered up his things, not surprised to see that while he was receiving his rebuke, Peter had hightailed it. What a rat, he thought uncharitably, and sulked the entire way back to the Tower.

It was an hour after supper before James, Sirius and Peter finally appeared in their dormitory, looking variably guilty and defensive.

“Since Pete’s spoiled it, I’ll tell you,” Sirius said, “that we’ve gotten tickets to the Toiling Troubles.” He fished into his pocket and held out four tickets.

Despite himself—because, really, he _didn’t_ like surprises—Remus felt his anger dissipate. “Really?” He nearly tripped over the boots he’d left lying in the middle of the room as he shot up from his desk chair and crossed to the door. Then he froze midway, eyes narrowing.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? You _know_ I think surprises are bullshit. And this isn’t even...how long have you been planning it? It feels like…”

He was on the edge of realizing that this was a stand-in secret, not the real one at all, but he shied from it. Maybe it was all right to be fooled. Besides—

“The _Toiling Troubles_?” he said slowly, reaching out for the tickets. Sirius cautiously stepped forward and set them in his hand.

“Yes,” he confirmed. Remus devoured the tickets from end to end in a long, hungry glance. 

“In _Glasgow_ , _tomorrow._ How can we make that?”

Sirius smiled slowly. “What else do we have the Map and Cloak for, but worthy adventures like this?”

“The Cloak is a family heirloom, and was pivotal in twelve covert operations across four wars,” James said mildly.

“Don’t brag about your Cloak, Potter. It’s crass.”

“So, there’s no plan,” Remus surmised. 

“That’s not what we were saying at all,” Sirius said, affronted. “We have it all arranged. We’ll skive off Care of Magical Creatures and leave after lunch.”

Getting out of the castle in the middle of the day, though, was harder than sneaking around it in the dead of night. There were so many people to dodge, and even if they had all been able to fit under the Cloak as easily as in first year, it only made them invisible. They were still given away if they ran into anyone or got caught in a crowd.

But James offered an elegant solution: following the crowd of students that took Gryffindor and Hufflepuff’s combined Divination course, and who had a planned excursion to interview Centaurs in the Forest. They’d conceal themselves in the group then peel off at the Forest’s edge.

“What if someone says something?” Peter asked uncertainly.

“There won’t be any Slytherins there,” was James’ response, and he and Sirius exchanged smug smiles.

It was true that no Hufflepuff had ever sought to foil their plans, but Remus thought they might be too conformist not to remark on something so brazen and done in the full light of day.

In the end it was his own House that should have worried him.

They all knew Lily was in elective Divination. She had been known to grumble about it occasionally, which was out of character—she tended to be determinedly positive. However, the assessment standard offended her analytical mind, defying, as it seemed to, any traceable logic. Therefore it threatened her perfect grades, which she was intent on maintaining. Her self-imposed academic standards had intensified since certain Slytherins began hurling slurs their third year.

But Remus hadn’t realized until they were wandering across the lawn in the group that Lily’s sense of justice would conflict with Remus and his friends’ plot.

She caught sight of him and smiled automatically. They always greeted each other in a friendly way. Then she looked puzzled, clearly realizing in the same moment that Remus wasn’t in Divination at all, and certainly not her section. Her gaze moved past him to James, and her eyes narrowed.

Remus put his head down and hoped nothing would come of it, walking with the group, wishing James hadn’t chosen this year to become so tall. And then he felt Lily clutch his elbow, and glanced over guiltily to find she’d fallen into step with him.

“What are you _doing_?” she murmured.

“We’re…” Remus shot a look at his friends, but only caught Sirius’ eye. Sirius looked as grim as Remus felt.

“Hi, Lily,” Peter said sweetly. “Hey, do you like _The Toiling Troubles_?”

“ _What_?” she hissed.

“You know, the band,” Peter said guilelessly. “We’re going to see them, and if you want my ticket I can sneak in.” 

Sirius and James both gave Peter quelling looks, and Remus rolled his eyes. It would be much too crowded for the Cloak to work, and though Lily was about as unlikely as anyone to take Peter up on his offer, it still annoyed Remus that Peter would make her a promise he couldn’t keep.

“What?” Peter hissed to Sirius. “You _know_ I could.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sirius said firmly, then grinned to Lily. “You look nice, Evans. I like the long fringe. Very Goldie Hawn.” “How do _you_ know who _Goldie Hawn_ is, Sirius Black?” “How do you _not_ know who _The Toiling Troubles_ are?”

“ _The Toiling Troubles_?” whispered Marlene, having trailed after Lily and now overhearing them. They were doing a terrible job lying low, Remus thought with distress. “That band that plays all the wizarding songs for Muggles, and they don’t even realize? Oh, I love them. Lily, let’s do it.” “Do _what_?”

Marlene was gazing at Sirius in that way witches tended to. Remus resisted the urge to sigh.

“Go with them,” Marlene said, glancing back at Lily with a puzzled frown. “Isn’t it obvious they’re sneaking off?”

“ _Obvious_ ,” Sirius scoffed. Peter looked wry. James was trying hard not to speak or make facial expressions, while staring at Lily so hard Remus was surprised he hadn’t tripped and fallen on his face.

“We only have four tickets,” Remus said, unsure.

“I really don’t need…” Peter began, and Sirius swatted him on the ear hard enough he helped. Remus shot them a distracted glance, but didn’t have time to think about it. They were almost to the Forest.

“Now or never,” he murmured, with a quick glance back at the girls.

“Maybe next time you’ll get an extra ticket,” Marlene told Sirius with a wink. Lily opened her mouth, a furrow between her brows, no doubt to admonish them again out of obligation to her Prefect responsibilities, but Marlene towed her away before she could.

“She could have had mine,” James murmured at last, looking mournfully after Lily.

Sirius sighed and grasped James’ arm. “Come on, Potter. You can cry along to all the ballads tonight and it’ll make you feel better. Chin up.”

They all crowded under the Cloak and made off without further argument.

* * *

Glasgow was colder than the Hogwarts grounds. That was the primary thought in Remus’ mind when they arrived. He looked from the Portkey to James, impressed.

“I really didn’t think that was going to work.” 

James’ eyes widened. “Then why did you put your hand on it? Don’t you know the potential side effects of a faulty _Portus_?”

“James is a very good wizard,” Peter said loyally, patting him. James looked down at him with a grin.

“Thanks, Pete.” He blinked owlishly at Remus. “I’m hurt, Remus, really. I’ve been watching my dad do that spell my whole life. You know he’s allergic to Floo powder.” 

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t just Apparate,” Sirius remarked. “My mother hates the Floo, too. She calls it ‘new-fangled,’ but did you know it’s been around almost a thousand years?” They all fell quiet a beat. It was rare for Sirius to mention his family. Even Regulus, who was at Hogwarts now, was a subject they all avoided by unspoken agreement. 

“Um,” James said, “he had a Splinching accident when someone side-alonged him as a child. Traumatized him.”

“It could be argued that magic in general is more dangerous than it’s worth,” said Peter sagely, and then they all burst into laughter, Peter included. 

“We’d better go, or we’ll miss the start,” James said, wadding up the bandana and stuffing it back in his pocket, presumably for the return journey.

They all rushed to follow James, who stalked ahead of them with his head bent over the map. When he didn’t raise it again even to navigate the crowds, it fell on Peter to get in front of him and part the crowds like a sandy-haired sheepdog. Remus found himself in step with Sirius, that new, but increasingly familiar awkwardness heavy between them.

“So…” Remus began. Sirius lifted his head and their eyes met, then they both quickly looked away. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it, Sirius?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far. Is there _ever_ a time when someone could say that _everything_ is alright?”

Remus rubbed his forehead. “Excellent point. Not at all responsive to my question, though, as you well know.”

Sirius chuckled. It was a low noise. Sirius’ voice was deeper, along with his recent several inches of height. Remus gazed at him sidelong. He’d always had good bone structure, but the angle of his jaw seemed to have gotten squarer, his cheekbones much more pronounced. He looked... 

“The other day, when we got the villain’s map,” Remus began, watching Sirius closely in the corner of his eye. A line appeared in his cheek as though he was grinding his teeth.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Sirius said after a moment. 

Remus was struck silent by that reply. He knew, of course, what Sirius would ask.

“I think I may have...seen...that man. On the grounds.”

Remus stumbled to a stop and reached out to grasp Sirius’ elbow. “ _What_?”

Sirius flushed, looking at Remus’ hand as though the firm touch had totally incapacitated him. 

“That’s not possible,” Remus murmured. The wards would never let him in. It had taken special keying for them to admit Remus despite his condition. He’d come in the summer before his first term and let blood in eight locations on the keystones, with Headmaster Dumbledore incanting in complex Gaelic before and after him.

“In the Forest,” Sirius amended, looking miserably uncertain. 

That might be possible. But if it was, it meant Greyback could get much closer than Remus had ever let himself imagine. His stomach dropped and his skin crawled. “It must have been a mistake,” he insisted, but he was whispering now.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Please, Remus, forget about it,” Sirius pleaded. “Even if someone was out there, he can’t…”

“How did you…” 

Remus stopped, realizing abruptly they were practically shouting at each other in the middle of a Muggle street, and Peter and James were nowhere in sight.

“Oh, god damn it,” muttered Sirius.

“Do you have…?”

“I don’t…” Sirius patted his pockets, checking for the two-way mirror, then sighed. “No. I loaned it to Peter.”

“Then—god damn it,” Remus agreed, and they laughed shortly. Then Remus gave Sirius a second look. “I know it wasn’t...like me,” he said lamely. “To just...not explain. And you were good to let it lie.”

“Which wasn’t like me,” Sirius said with a quick, half-hearted grin. Remus smiled back uncomfortably, and looked around.

“You know the rule if we get separated.” 

“Meet where you came in,” Sirius sighed. “But knowing those two berks, they won’t miss the show. Maybe we can catch up with them. How hard can it be to find?”

After twenty minutes of wandering Muggle Glasgow in less-than-companionable silence, it became obvious that the concert wasn’t the sort of thing they were going to just stumble into.

“We should get back to the rendezvous point,” said Remus, and Sirius nodded reluctantly, then came to a complete stop. He was staring across the street with excitement blooming on his face.

“Remus, look,” he said. “A tattoo parlor.” 

Sirius had a fascination with Muggle tattoos Remus didn’t understand, though he hadn’t quite brought himself to commit to one yet. Before Remus could form a reply, though, Sirius was gasping again.

“And they do piercings!” Just like that, he darted across the street, giving Remus the option to either follow or surrender Sirius to the crowd and meet up with James and Peter on his own.

“Sirius,” Remus hissed, catching up to him outside the storefront. Sirius was peering dreamily through the windows at the dim and seedy-looking interior, where someone was bent over an anxious-looking young woman’s bare arm with a needle. “This place doesn’t seem…”

“It’s fantastic,” Sirius breathed, and went in. Remus followed him so closely he didn’t even have to catch the door.

“Can I help you?” asked a man from behind a cluttered counter. He leaned forward, his bare arms coated in intricate tattoos in a variety of colors and styles and themes. Remus saw a skull, a lion and a pair of female legs, the rest of the body disappearing around the curve of his bicep. The smell of ink and old cigarettes were so strong his eyes threatened to water.

“Yeah,” Sirius said at once with an eager smile. “How much for a piercing?”

The man behind them laughed without looking up from the woman’s arm.

“That depends on gauge and location,” said the man behind the counter. He hadn’t laughed, but he was smiling now. He had thin lips above a sparse goatee, but his face was saved from homeliness by his pleasant, dark brown eyes.

“I just meant my ears,” Sirius said, touching his earlobes and blushing faintly. The man behind the counter straightened up. His arms, in addition to being tattooed, were large and shapely with muscle, and he was quite tall. Sirius fidgeted as he came out from behind the counter, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his low-slung jeans.

The way Sirius looked at the big Muggle was a bit like the way Remus was used to girls looking at Sirius. The correlation left him feeling intensely confused, like he had accidentally skipped to the end of a book, and the last few pages made no sense without the context of the rest of the story.

“Lobe or cartilage?”

Sirius shrugged and smiled. “What do you think?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Remus muttered. “And do you even have any money?”

Sirius shot him a glare.

“We have a special,” mentioned the Muggle who was tattooing.

“Oh, right,” said the other one. “We have a special. Three locations on the same ear for the price of one. Includes standard studs and hoops.”

“I’ll do that,” Sirius said at once. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Great. Have a seat.”

For some reason, Remus couldn’t bring himself to watch as Sirius sat down in a chair upholstered in cracked vinyl, its several fissures revealing the dingy foam cushion beneath. The Muggle leaned over Sirius as Remus turned away. The only other thing to see in the small space was the tattoo-in-progress. The woman rested against the arm the artist wasn’t working on, looking less green-around-the-gills than before, and mostly just dazed instead. She wasn’t much older than Remus, he realized. 

The tattoo was a butterfly with its black-and-gold-patterned wings spread. The colors were vibrant and the artist made sure lines with the tiny needle, like he was painting on the taut pale skin of the woman’s upper arm.

“Why a butterfly?” Remus asked her, sitting in a chair by the window that was only a few steps away.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Why a butterfly? Does it symbolize something important to you?”

The artist smirked, but didn’t comment. The woman only looked confused. “I just think they’re pretty,” she said, like Remus was the strange one.

Remus smiled, thinking privately that he hoped her tastes didn’t change with age.

“Fuck,” Sirius swore, and Remus looked over instinctively, his legs tensing at the urge to get to his feet. But Sirius was fine, of course; it was only voluntary bodily mutilation. A distressingly long needle had pierced his ear, and then the Muggle forced the stud through behind it.

“Hardly any blood,” he said cheerfully. “Ready for the next?”

Remus could smell it. It _wasn’t_ much blood, but what was there smelled...different.

“What kind of tat would you get, if you could?” the woman asked Remus.

 _I wouldn’t_ was the correct answer, but it was obviously rude, so Remus gave a response some thought. What image would symbolize significant to him? The moon? An empty house partially wrecked by his past changes, where he curled on a dusty mattress to wait for the moon? The damp tunnel that led to that house, where he was always suspended between wanting to hurry along and wanting to linger forever so he never got where he was going? The castle on the other end of that tunnel, where his three best friends waited to guard him loyally and defend him unflinchingly?

He shrugged. “I guess a tree.” He said. “With wide branches and big leaves. I like the way they look.”

* * *

Sirius kept touching his ear. They’d only walked a block when Remus lost his temper. “Literally his only instructions were ‘don’t touch them for a week.’”

Sirius scowled, but he jerked his hand away from the side of his head guiltily. 

“What was going on with you in there anyway?” Remus demanded, before he could second guess himself.

Sirius looked startled. “What?”

“You were…?” Remus gestured futilely and Sirius continued to look on in total incomprehension. “It was like you were _flirting._ ”

Sirius’ color rose slowly, and he stubbornly held Remus’ eye. “So?” he asked after a long moment.

Remus felt his own cheeks heat. “Oh.” He looked at his feet. “I thought...um…”

“You thought I liked witches,” Sirius said tersely. He looked down, too, and walked past Remus through the sparse crowds. Remus watched him a moment, his hunched shoulders, his head tilted slightly in the direction of the newly-pierced ear. Was it sore?

When he’d caught up, Remus kept stride for a block in silence. Then he cleared his throat. “I just didn’t know.”

“Well,” Sirius shot him a quick, sidelong look that didn’t last long enough for Remus to catch his eye. “It’s not something I really...got...until recently.”

“Okay,” Remus said.

“It’s...not important,” Sirius muttered. “I can’t believe we could have talked about something _important_ and instead we’re talking about... _that_.”

“It _is_ important,” Remus said. He was thinking about Spitstone Street, but not the part with Greyback that had so preoccupied him before. He remembered his and Sirius’ embrace, instead. The feeling of Sirius _there_ , and…

He’d thought it was one of those physical things, a meaningless, random intersection of pressure and timing and teenage hormones. But to think, now, it might have been...that _Sirius_ might have been... _responding_ , specifically, to _Remus_ …

“You’re going the wrong way,” Sirius said, reaching out to grab Remus’ arm, and pulled him hard to the right when Remus would have stayed straight. He stumbled against Sirius’ side and looked up in surprise, his arm hot and tingling with new awareness under Sirius’ touch, but Sirius’ hand fell away and he looked unaffected by the contact, the grim line of his mouth and the set of his shoulders unchanged from a moment before.

After all, Remus reminded himself, just because Sirius liked blokes didn’t mean he suddenly liked _Remus_. In fact, he must not. It wouldn’t make any sense.

“What I mean is, we should be talking about _him_ ,” Sirius said. The street they were on now was familiar; Remus knew it was the one the Portkey had delivered them to. James and Peter, though, were nowhere to be seen. 

Remus realized a second later whom Sirius meant. “Him,” he echoed dully. 

“I know he was in the Forest,” Sirius said. “I can’t explain, but I’m _sure_.”

“Why would you have been in the Forest anyway?” They had, by unspoken agreement, never gone back since their First Year, when they snuck out to find a Grow-all Pollen to get them out of a particularly complex Herbology project, and were nearly eviscerated by the nest of forest gnomes to whom it belonged.

“I can’t explain,” Sirius said again, his voice stilted and his expression miserable. “I promised.”

“Who did you promise?” Remus felt a wave of dread and almost wished he hadn’t asked. But also, he desperately wanted to know.

Sirius looked paler and more wrecked yet. “James and Peter,” he admitted.

It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. Since the conversation with Peter, Remus had suspected that the secret his friends were keeping went well beyond concert tickets. But he’d been enjoying his denial.

“I...see.” Remus was the one to brush past Sirius this time, studying the mouth of the nearest alley intently as he passed. No, not that one. He’d remember the evenly spaced row of silver waste bins stretching all the way to the cross-street.

Sirius was close behind him. “No, you don’t. I’m positive you don’t ‘see’.” 

“Then enlighten me.” The next alley wasn’t the right one, either. Remus could already tell. It had a low fence and a wrought-iron gate.

“I _can’t_ ,” Sirius groaned.

“Then _what_ ,” Remus snapped turning around to glower at Sirius, “am I _supposed_ to think?”

Sirius looked taken aback. “You’re supposed to trust me!”

They stared at one another. Remus’ pulse was noisy in his ears, and he thought Sirius must feel the same. He had pink cheeks, his nostrils were flared, his lips were parted. Looking at him felt different, as though he was someone else entirely than he’d been before they walked into the tattoo shop. All the things Remus had already known about him now seemed to carry a different weight: his height (nearly as tall as Remus now but not quite); the place in his throat where his blood coursed; and where blood was drying in the tiny holes in his ear, that changed scent.

“Oi, where have you been?” called a very familiar, annoyed voice, and Sirius and Remus both swung around to face the next alley down, where James and Peter leaned against the wall. 

“It took you ages to get back here, and now it’s too late for the show!”

* * *

They snuck all the way into the castle before jostling each other and getting a _Lumos_ over the map became too much, and Peter was shaken out from under the Cloak to inspect it.

“Mr. Pettigrew!” exclaimed Professor Sprout, who was inexplicably there in the corridor with a writhing armload of Healing Green Moss. “What on Earth are you doing out here?”

“Um,” Peter replied.

Professor Sprout Levitated the Moss and, her hands now free, plucked the Map from Peter’s hand. He reached after it with a small sound of distress, but it was too late. Even from beneath the Cloak, clinging to James while Sirius clung to him, Remus could see how her eyes widened at the sight of the Map just before the Charms recognized she wasn’t authorized and cleared the Parchment.

“I do not have time to deal with one of you...marauding Gryffindors,” she said, pointing a long finger at Peter that was visibly green at the tip, and also smudged with dirt. “I’ll keep this Object for the moment,” she said, giving the Map a shake then tucking it into the hip pocket of her wide skirts. “Go to your dormitory directly, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“Th-thank you, Professor,” Peter mumbled, and hurried off toward the Tower. Remus, James and Sirius followed invisibly while Professor Sprout struck off toward the other staircase, the bundle of Moss sweeping along behind her.

“How will we explain it?” murmured James as they arrived at the portrait hole and slipped off the Cloak before they ducked through. No one had a chance to answer, because a dozen heads turned their way in the common room. There was a moment of shocked silence, then the other Gryffindors their age or older, pajama-clad and some of them with tears on their faces, descended on them. 

“We thought you were dead!” wailed Adele Wilkerson, throwing her arms around Remus’ neck, which was especially startling to him because he couldn’t recall having spoken to her more than twice the entire term.

“Um,” Remus managed, hugging her back. Over her shoulder he caught James’ wide eyes and mouthed _what the fuck_ to which James responded with a shrug, hampered by the fact that two witches were clinging to him.

“What happened?” Lily was on the periphery, her eyes red, hugging herself in an oversized sweater. She rubbed the back of her hand against her nose, visibly trying not to look at James, but her eyes kept leaving Remus for a moment to dart in his direction, then away. “How did you get away?”

“The thing is,” Peter said quietly, “we have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lily looked at him, bit her lower lip, then unfolded her arms, revealing a breaking-news edition of the _Prophet_ , identifiable by its pale yellow parchment. She looked down at it and read aloud.

“Attack at Muggle concert linked to anti-Muggle sentiment. A hundred dead.”

“It wasn’t…” murmured James, looking pale. Peter stepped forward and held James’ wrist, and Remus felt Sirius’ shoulder bump against his.

“It was the _Toiling Troubles_ show,” Lily confirmed. “Tonight, in Glasgow.”

* * *

After an hour of sitting around together, mostly in silence, their housemates began disbanding. Lily was among the first to go. She’d had her eyes downcast and hadn’t said a word since she’d read from the _Prophet_. Not long after that, Remus, Peter, James and Sirius made their excuses too.

“Sirius,” James said faintly, studying their friend as they came into the dark dormitory corridor. “What’s that in your ear?”

Remus smelled it as soon as they came into the dormitory: not Greyback, exactly, but Greyback’s pack. A faint, unmistakable scent he knew well from previous correspondence. He scanned the dark room with vague terror, but he knew from the weakness of the scent there was no one there. He was smelling an object. A quick glance at the window confirmed it: there was something resting on the sill, up against the pane. A small, cloth-wrapped parcel. 

When the others were finally motionless in their beds, he slid out from under his blanket and padded silently to the window, nudged it open, and picked up the bundle.

Sirius had been right. Greyback _had_ been around the school, somehow. He must have tossed the bundle there, either with incredible aim or after several attempts. The rag was wrapped around a stone to give it heft. There were teeth wrapped up in there, too; old, yellow molars that might have appeared human, but they smelled distinctly of fox; probably a random kill. They masked most of Greyback’s specific scent.

The message was a new one, in form if not spirit.

_we await where you belong_


	4. The Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus likes witches.

The next few days were quiet around Hogwarts. It seemed everyone knew someone who knew someone that had been at the _Toiling Troubles_ show. And in the Tower, their Housemates still seemed to feel that their four favorite troublemakers were only alive by some miracle.

Remus supposed they weren’t entirely wrong. How little would have needed to change for them to have wound up in the midst of that cave-in? They might have escaped, many attendees had, but likely at least one of them would not have.

It had never occurred to Remus. Not the prospect of _Remus’_ death. His own life couldn’t be expected to last all that long. The average lifespan of a werewolf was thirty years, but Remus liked to think that his acceptance of magical medicine, hygiene and diet would help him easily exceed that. Still, once a moon, something terrible and violent happened to Remus, and he knew it would kill him sooner or later.

But the lives of his friends he imagined as without end. What was the world worth without Peter’s shy grin, Sirius’ wit or James’ heart? He’d only known them in a thriving state—growing, changing only in ways that made them stronger. Conceiving the opposite was nearly impossible. 

He thought most people weren’t quite so dependent on their friends. But then, Remus wasn’t most people; he had the wolf. Maybe it was the wolf that listened to them breathe at night with deepest contentment. Maybe the wolf thought of them as its pack.

When Remus was called to the Headmaster’s office, he assumed it was one of the random appointments Professor Dumbledore made with Prefects. He’d had one a few weeks before, which consisted of Professor Dumbledore asking questions about Muggle poetry and passing Remus a tray of colorful hard candies, each one sweeter than the last. But when Remus gave the password and trailed up the staircase, it was obvious from the lowered voices he overheard that Professor Dumbledore wasn’t waiting for Remus alone.

“Remus, my boy,” said the Professor cheerfully as Remus arrived at the top of the stairs. He smiled politely at his Headmaster, then looked semi-anxiously at the man in Auror robes who sat across the desk. He was familiar to Remus, but he wasn’t sure why.

“This is Auror Motter,” explained Professor Dumbledore. “He has a few particular questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

Professor Dumbledore looked very grave, and as Remus began to walk over to the empty chair beside the Auror’s, he realized why. He recognized Auror Motter because he was the same Auror whom Remus had seen meet with his parents, several years back. The Ministry sent an Auror to the home of all known werewolves, regardless of age, to ensure there was an adequate safety plan in place.

Remus hesitated. He so rarely faced anyone who knew what he was. But Auror Motter looked pleasant enough; he had a solemn expression, but Remus sensed that it wasn’t personal. His eyes were faintly pitying, which rankled, but at least they weren’t unkind. Remus sat down.

“Mr. Lupin,” said Auror Motter. His voice was very deep. “Were you aware that Fenrir Greyback has been visiting the grounds?”

Remus paused a moment and sent a quick, inquiring glance at Headmaster Dumbledore. He raised his eyebrows encouragingly. “It...seemed likely,” he told Auror Motter.

The Auror’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “And you didn’t think to report it to me?”

Remus blinked. “Well, no. Should I have?”

Auror Motter frowned. “I told your parents that should you see or sniff him, I should be notified.”

“Ah,” Remus said. “Well, they never passed that along. Regrettably.”

“Remus,” Professor Dumbledore said gently. “Why didn’t you alert _me_?”

“Or your parents, for Merlin’s sake,” added Auror Motter.

The answer to each of those questions was the same. “I’d...rather my parents didn’t know,” Remus admitted quietly. Professor Dumbledore and Auror Motter exchanged a wide-eyed look. 

“I can see why you think the subject is painful for your parents. But did you consider the safety of all your schoolmates?” Auror Motter’s initial calm was gone. “What if he’d hurt someone the same way he hurt you?”

In fact, Greyback had turned Remus to exact revenge on Remus’ father, which they all knew but didn’t say, and wasn’t known to arbitrarily bite at all. But then, Remus preferred being a werewolf to being simply murdered and eaten, and doing _that_ would be consistent with Greyback’s scruples.

“I should have,” Remus said, flushing. “I’m sorry.” He thought of how Sirius had been in the woods, had apparently _seen_ Greyback, based on what he’d alluded to. How easily could he have been hurt? Remus’ stomach churned. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated, choking up a bit.

“Oh, now, Remus, don’t be distressed,” Professor Dumbledore said hastily. “Auror Motter and I only wanted to remind you of the danger, but no one has gotten hurt as of yet.”

Auror Motter, in fact, looked satisfied by Remus’ distress, but he didn’t contradict the Headmaster, only sat looking stonily at Remus from his chair.

“How did you know he had been close? Are you two in contact?” the Auror asked frankly.

Professor Dumbledore sat up, robes rustling. “Now, Auror Motter, I don’t think that’s…”

“It’s all right, Professor,” Remus murmured. He frowned thoughtfully. “We’re not _in touch_. But he does...leave notes.”

“Notes,” Auror Motter echoed. “What kind of notes?”

Remus shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek, then his lower lip. “Just to scare me, I think. ‘I’m close,’ ‘I’m watching,’ ‘come to me.’ That kind of thing.” 

Professor Dumbledore made a low, disapproving noise. Auror Motter, however, was nonplussed. “How long ago did you begin receiving these ‘notes’?”

Remus thought it over. “I don’t know. Always? Since before I could read.” He used to just decipher them by smell. An angry scent marking or a happy one; one meant to seduce. They all had their own signatures.

The room was very quiet. The silence stretched for three long seconds.

Auror Motter cleared his throat. “And you never told your mum and dad?”

Remus shook his head. The silence resumed.

“We assumed you would tell us,” Auror Motter said eventually. “But it’s to be expected. A werewolf who begets a werewolf tends to want that new werewolf near. We all thought it was strange he wasn’t courting you.”

“Courting?” Professor Dumbledore asked sharply.

“That doesn’t mean what you think,” Auror Motter was quick to say. “It’s what we call it when a werewolf pack recruits. Courting.” He turned back to Remus. “Are you inclined to join Greyback, young man?” 

The question shocked Remus. “No!”

The Auror nodded, as though the answer didn’t surprise him, but the opposite answer wouldn’t have either. “Did you know werewolves have been considered an asset to dark lords, as recently as Grindelwald?”

Remus slumped in his chair. “Yes. But I’m not like that.” The cultural deficiencies of werewolves tended to lead them astray. Pack society abhorred wands, non-werewolf relationships and even, to an extent, the written word. Their lifestyle compromised their ability to accurately assess the right and wrong sides of a conflict. Though Remus thought Greyback was the exception, and just _preferred_ to be wrong.

“A new dark lord is attempting to rise,” said Auror Motter. “We believe he might enlist Greyback’s pack, but we have no way of assessing the threat. No way to gather information.”

Remus wasn’t sure why Auror Motter was sharing this information. He shot a glance toward Professor Dumbledore, but the headmaster didn’t explain. He only looked back at Remus with fond sadness.

“You want me to do it. To spy on Greyback and his pack.”

Auror Motter nodded.

“But I’m just…” Remus gestured. “I’m not like them.” He thought of Greyback’s smell, his teeth, and panicked. “I…”

“You wouldn’t have to go eat carrion and live in the dirt,” Auror Motter said reasonably. “Only befriend him. Let him think he can trust you.”

Seeing the look on Remus’ face, the Headmaster interjected. “Motter, Greyback is his attacker, and Remus is not sixteen years old.”

Auror Motter frowned, but certainly didn’t apologize. “Perhaps he’s not up for it,” he allowed, giving Remus a quick once-over. “That being said, it’s imperative we know immediately whether he makes contact, Mr. Lupin,” he told Remus, and handed Remus a small scroll with his Floo and owl addresses inside. “I hope you don’t have to be told a second time.”

Remus muttered something regretful again and pocketed the scroll.

* * *

At their weekly Prefect meeting, Lirica bravely began with an overview of secondhand trauma and a list of healers who specialized in grief counseling, then dissolved into tears and excused herself from the room.

Robert looked around helplessly for a few long moments, and all the other Prefects stared back silently. Then he sighed. “Go on, then. Meeting’s canceled.”

They all started to stand up. Remus had been sitting by Lily, like always. They were the last two to move. Remus looked over at her; she had a faraway stare. 

“Why do you think,” she asked, a little too shrill and a little too loud, “people hate Muggles so much?”

Everyone in the room froze. The half hearted murmur of other parting conversations stopped. Robert cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I don’t think there are any _real_ reasons,” he said gently.

Monica Travers leaned against the back of the chair she’d just risen from. “It’s just Pureblood bullshit,” she said scathingly. “I say that _as_ a Pureblood,” she added with a quick glance at Magda Black, who closed her mouth smartly, whatever she’d been about to say forestalled.

“It’s just—wizarding Britain is _depopulated_! In any other culture, new members would be _welcomed_.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said William Denver, a Hufflepuff sixth year, and his color rose when he attracted Lily’s glower. He cleared his throat. “My mum’s a Muggle! But there are plenty of unaccepting Muggle cultures in their history too.”

Remus tended to agree, but he wasn’t about to cross Lily, not in the mood she was in. She practically vibrated in her chair, her taut arm just a few inches from his.

“I know that. But…” she swallowed and blinked back angry tears. “It’s so _senseless_. And why’s the Ministry keeping so much of what’s happening from us? The only reason they covered the deaths at the concert was because word had already gotten out. If it was Aurors, we might never hear about it, and if we did it would just be a vague mention.”

“In times of war,” Robert said softly, brow furrowed, “my great-grandmother used to say, the Ministry is the first to be compromised.”

“ _Imperio_ isn’t a difficult spell, if you’ve guts enough to risk getting caught,” Magda said, so matter-of-fact she earned more than a few disbelieving stares. “Or so I _hear,_ ” she added unconvincingly. 

* * *

After the meeting, Lily receded back into the silence she’d maintained most of the last few days. The conversation had ebbed and flowed from heated to confused to saddened and back before they all finally left the abandoned classroom. 

Remus didn’t want to disturb Lily, whose emotions still seemed very close to the surface. But at the portrait hole, he brushed the back of his hand against her shoulder and she looked up.

“Okay, Lil?”

She managed a ghost of a smile. “You bet. You were quiet in there.”

Remus grimaced. “I never know what to say in a crowd like that.” It was why, though Dumbledore kept gently inquiring, Remus couldn’t conceive of being a teacher.

They climbed through toward the common room. “Remus,” Lily said slowly, “how’s…” she paused and pursued her lips, “...James?”

Remus tripped over his robes and caught himself against the back of the common room sofa. “Did you really just ask me about _James_?”

Her cheeks heated. “It’s only...he’s been quiet.”

“So have we all,” Remus pointed out. Lily looked pained.

“Is he...I’ve never been sure...is he _lovely_ , or is he _insufferable_?”

Remus laughed. “Both.”

She rubbed her hands over her face, which had gone tomato-red. “That makes sense I guess. Good night, Remus.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Remus smiled shyly at her when they parted, and trailed toward his dormitory.

The corridor was eerily silent, which meant his friends were either asleep or had cloaked the dormitory in Silencing Charms. Anticipating the latter, he braced himself as he opened the door. But nothing could have prepared him for the abrupt assault on his ears as he stepped through the doorway. Sirius and James were hollering at the tops of their lungs, and Remus froze in dismay, having no idea what they could be on about.

Then, in answer, a large, fast-moving rat shot across the room toward Remus.

“Remus, look out!” shrieked Sirius. Remus hadn’t known him to be afraid of rats.

“Get the door!” James cried.

“No! Don’t, you could slam it on him!” exclaimed Sirius. In any event, it was already too late to do as James had commanded; the rat had darted between Remus’ feet and was out into the corridor.

James and Sirius scrambled to follow, wrestling their way past Remus and shouting more nonsense at one another, which turned into whispered nonsense as they emerged into the corridor.

“We have to get him before something happens!”

“He’s still too overstimulated; he won’t know where he’s going or what he’s doing!”

“What if he gets in the walls? What if he finds another rat?”

“Another _rat_? I’m more concerned about one of the several _kneazles_!”

Remus strode after them; the rat was already long gone from the corridor, but he scanned the shadows along the walls anyway. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” he insisted in a loud whisper, but they paid him no mind, turning the corner into the common room with anxious faces.

A few third years, coming from the library judging by how laden with books they were, were stringing through the portrait hole.

“Stop!” shouted James, startling them.

“Have you seen a rat?” Sirius added.

“No,” began one of the witches slowly, but she was cut off by a sudden volley of exclamations from behind her. For a culture who regularly kept them as pets, Remus thought sourly, magical folk were awfully fearful of rats.

“Fuck, he’s out in the castle,” murmured James, turning to Sirius, and incidentally, toward Remus, with panic in his eyes.

“What is _going on_?” Remus asked again, more loudly this time. “Where’s Peter?” he added when it occurred to him.

Sirius and James exchanged a swift, loaded look, which meant nothing to Remus but spurred his anger. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’ll...we’ll...explain,” Sirius said lamely. “But first...the rat.”

James nodded. “You should go after him. Maybe you can…” he tapped his nose. “You know.”

Sirius shot Remus a look. “Okay. The Cloak?” 

James nodded and jogged back toward the dormitory. Remus grasped Sirius’ arm.

“Sirius,” he growled. “I’m going to go mad if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Right. Now.”

“There’s not time,” Sirius pleaded. “I have to…”

“Find the rat.” Remus gritted his teeth. He could smell the rat’s trail, as clearly as he could see the room around them. “I’ll help you, and the moment we find it, you’re going to explain. Swear.”

Sirius nodded mutely, eyes wide. 

James reappeared, the Cloak surreptitiously under his arm. He still looked ill. “I should go too.”

“No, stay,” Sirius said. “He might find his way back, if he comes to his senses.”

James nodded. “Okay. Hurry.” He thrust the folded Cloak into Sirius’ hands and Sirius and Remus went out the portrait hole, still open amongst the cluster of third years.

“This way,” Remus said, turning toward the corridor that led to the rear staircase. That made sense; the rat would be drawn to the quieter, darker parts of the castle. Sirius was close behind him, but they didn’t need the Cloak yet. Maybe they wouldn’t need it at all. It depended on whether the rat stayed toward the parts of the castle where they were allowed to go.

“Isn’t it…” Sirius tilted his head and inhaled. “Down the staircase, yeah,” he agreed, to Remus’ bafflement, and walked ahead.

“Only ten minutes til curfew,” Remus reminded him, close behind.

They got to the first landing and the trail was faint. Sirius paused and looked tentatively to Remus. “Any ideas?”

Remus realized he’d been following his nose without explanation, and bit his lip. “Um, do you see any places in the walls it could have squeezed through?”

They both bent down to look. Remus found the rift in the stone at the juncture of the floor and the wall first, of course. 

“It looks like he’s gone where we can’t follow,” he told Sirius, nodding toward the spot.

Sirius dropped to his knees with an injured sound. “No,” he breathed, and held out a trembling hand toward the hole. “Do you think it’s safe in there?”

Remus was bemused. “For a rat? I have no idea. You’re awfully attached to your brand new pet.”

Sirius grimaced. “You could say that.”

Remus stood up. “We should get back to the dorms. We can look more in the morning.” But it seemed obvious if the rat had all night to roam the castle, it’d wind up somewhere they had no hope of finding it.

“ _No_ ,” Sirius said at once. “He could come back out. We should wait here.”

“That little tunnel could lead anywhere,” Remus began doubtfully but the look on Sirius’ face stopped him. “I guess we could wait a while.”

Sirius nodded, placated, and dug the two-way mirror from his pocket. “Maybe he came back to the dormitory,” he mused aloud, but Remus wasn’t surprised when James told them there wasn’t a sign. 

“There’s a Prefect patrol,” Remus reminded Sirius, and nodded toward the pocket of his trousers where he’d seen him stick the Cloak.

Sirius withdrew and unfolded it. “I wish we had the Map,” he murmured.

“I don’t think it would work with an animal,” Remus said, shrugging. The magic depended on the figures in the mapped location identifying with a name. Names had surprising power all their own.

Sirius leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “I can’t think of anything worse than a dark, tiny tunnel like that,” he said, apparently still very preoccupied by the plight of his rat.

“Well, you’re not a rat,” Remus pointed out. “It’s probably wide open space that’s a nightmare to them.”

Sirius opened his eyes. With his head leaned back, and one knee bent, he looked—

”Just ask,” he said lowly. 

”Ask what?” Remus said, but his throat was abruptly tight and it made his voice rough. Sirius didn’t clarify. He didn’t need to. Remus bit his lip. “So, you...reckon you aren’t for witches at all then?”

Sirius’ eyes narrowed. “No.”

Remus nodded. 

“What about you?” Sirius asked, and Remus froze.

“I like witches!”

“But is that all you like?” Sirius’ eyes were gunmetal dark. His throat was white and curved.

“I don’t...I’ve never…”

Sirius frowned and he looked down. “Never thought of a wizard that way?”

“No,” Remus said, a little too quickly. “Or...I’m not sure.” 

Sirius glanced up again, eyes bright. And then he jerked away from the wall and his hand flew to his pocket and pulled out the mirror.

“He’s here!” Remus heard James’ tinny voice exclaim. “Pete’s here!”

Sirius grinned, pale with relief. “Let’s get back?” he asked Remus.

“But...your rat…?”

They stared at each other, Sirius’ mouth slightly open, though even that dopey look somehow _worked_ for him.

Then there were footsteps and voices—Prefects patrolling—and they pressed together without hesitation as Sirius slung the Cloak over them both in a practiced motion.

They’d wound up facing each other somehow. Their noses were close, their arms part way around each other, and as they realized it their touch grew tentative.

The Prefects went by; there were two of them, but Remus couldn’t spare enough attention to even say who they were. Then they had passed and Remus and Sirius still hadn’t moved.

Beneath the Cloak, they both breathed heavier. The air between them was growing moist and hot; sweat broke out on Remus’ brow. Their arms stayed fixed around one another as they’d been since they grasped each other’s waists for balance.

“Is this…?” Sirius said.

“Do you…?” Remus began at the same moment. They paused and they both laughed quietly, Sirius’ breath warm and sweet on Remus’ chin.

“You said,” Sirius tried, then paused and wet his lips. “You said you weren’t sure?”

“I’ve never kissed a bloke,” Remus agreed, leaning slightly nearer, so their noses brushed.

“Neither have I,” Sirius confessed, “but I still know.”

“I…” Remus thought of Druella’s soft curves and the way she sighed into his neck. He felt Sirius’ lean waist, the knobs of his hipbones. He thought of him getting hard because of Remus, rolling his cock into Remus’ touch, and swallowed. “I think I know, too.”

Sirius almost laughed; Remus felt the tremor of it in his body, beneath Remus’ hands, in his chest, half a handspan away. But instead he rose onto his toes and closed the last quarter-inch of distance between them with parted lips.

It was hot and dark, the Cloak stuck to them, and they were hesitant, their hands shocked-still, for the first pained moment of contact. Then Sirius slid his hands more tightly around Remus’ back, and Remus rubbed his palms back and forth so he could feel the ridges of Sirius’ ribs, the heat of his skin.

They broke apart and Remus nuzzled Sirius’ neck, the sharp scent of blood by his ear stark this close. Remus froze, recognizing finally what he’d been unable to name but had noted on Sirius since the start of term.

“Sirius,” he murmured against Sirius’ neck, making him shiver. “Why do you smell like a dog?”

Sirius laughed, forgetting they were hiding, as loud and sharp as a bark. Ironic, Remus thought, his thoughts dreamy-slow as he reveled in the feel of Sirius’ solid thigh between his.

“I have something to show you,” said Sirius. Remus could hear his smile in his voice, though with them tangled together, it was still out of sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you thought.


End file.
